


With Those Who Favor Fire

by iberiandoctor (jehane)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark!Charles, Dubious Consent, Existential Horror, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Sex, Mindwipe, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Seduction, Seduction to the Dark Side, Teacher-Student Sexual Contact, The Phoenix Force, ToT: Monster Mash, Treat, Trick or Treat 2017, Trick or Treat: Trick, X-Men: Apocalypse (2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor
Summary: Charles learns about desire from Apocalypse.





	With Those Who Favor Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [still_lycoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/gifts).



His world had turned into fire. Although his body was strapped down in the heart of the pyramid’s Lazarus Chamber, Charles felt the flames streaming through his veins, across the networks in his central nervous system, bringing the tracts and axons of his paralyzed limbs to roaring life.

In his mind was fire and light, life incarnate: every neuron was ablaze. 

Overflowing with power, he sent it flooding out of him in a furious tidal wave at the man who was trying to take possession of his soul.

_You want what I have? You want to feel what I feel? Welcome to my world!_

He faced Apocalypse: ruler of forgotten kingdoms, emperor to a multitude of worshippers, an ancient god-king of unimaginable might. And yet, for all his much-vaunted prowess, he was just a man — the first genetically-gifted member of their kind, but still just a man, who had had millennia ago watched the great pyramids rise, and sought to raise his own.

He was just one man, and no match for Charles.

Charles felt his neural pathways shiver with borrowed fire. The legion of voices in his head, the assorted host of mutant minds across the world, the combined powers of his X-Men, of Jean and the others, filled him with a strength that was infinite and irresistible. 

He rose up, both in his mind and in his body, the restraints falling away. 

_You're in my house!_

He seized hold of Apocalypse and slammed him to the ground, with a concussive force strong enough to shatter the encasing armor, that left the god-king’s body as unguarded as his mind.

_You will never win. Because you are alone. And I am not!_

Alone, Apocalypse was no match for Charles and this new generation of _homo superior_. He howled at the invasion, the angled walls of the pyramid shuddering around them, trying to rally his defenses and the battlements of his mind against Charles’s attack. He was too late: Charles was already inside.

He was inside the mind of the man once called En Sabah Nur, piercing the vast depths with his uncompromising light, holding a torch over caverns of untold treasure. 

Here, _here_ , was a millennia of knowledge — an enormous power that could drain oceans and consume the stars in the sky, which had pulled monuments out of the ground and altered the course of history, which had enslaved an entire nation to its will and its unquenchable hunger. 

And, despite this, despite everything, this god-king was yielding. To Charles.

Charles held Apocalypse down, one arm across the man’s throat to choke off his airway, the other pinning his wrist over his head. Finally unsheathed from his protective armor, Apocalypse was a colossus, immense, taller and broader than any human would ever be, his shoulders and limbs and muscular trunk of gigantic proportions, and yet he couldn't resist. The new life in Charles’s nerves filled him with impossible size and strength; his awakened legs enfolded Apocalypse’s massive thighs and hips and pinioned him to the pyramid floor.

Trailing fire and brightness, Charles pursued his relentless campaign of occupation, of conquest. There was so much potential there, a core of arcane wisdom accumulated over the many lifetimes this man had lived. What Charles could _do_ with all of it! If only he could take over control — if only he could get deep enough —

— There was no time for anything else. He needed _more_. 

Charles’s flesh had roused to incandescent life, his cock erect under his linen robe, flagrant with power that was and wasn’t his. Rampant and ravenous, he grappled with the god-king, and mounted him, and plundered the hidden depths not seen before by mortal men.

Pleasure and pain blazed through Charles’s synapses as he forced himself into that millennia-old mind, as he plunged deeply into En Sabah Nur’s resisting body. Dimly, he heard the man howl again, a shout that could have torn the sea in two, but he was past caring. 

He was so close; victory was nearly within his grasp. He could save the whole world, humans and mutants all. He would see the dawn of a new era emerge. He could harness all the powers at Apocalypse’s disposal, he could ensure the future for their kind, he could remake the world in light, and fire — 

He joined his mind to Apocalypse’s, he joined his power to Apocalypse’s, he joined their lips in a consuming kiss, and together, they flared alight.

_It's over. You're finished. You're mine now._

 

*

 

After the fire came darkness, and after the darkness, light. These things attracted the living, like moths drawn to a flame. Charles returned to consciousness to find himself encircled in the arms of the Horsemen of Apocalypse. 

They had conveyed him to a chamber lit with torches, had garbed themselves in the same loose linen robe as he wore, and they had lain down beside him in the rudimentary bed. 

Upon awakening, in the aftermath of fire, Charles felt as unsteady as a creature newly born. His hair had been consumed in the blaze; his brain felt too big for his newly bared skull. An echo of clamoring voices rang dimly in his head, different languages and different sounds, strangely blunted around the edges. With an effort, he set his power aside. There would be time for that later.

“Lord, you’re awake,” said the white-haired girl. Storm. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch him. “What should we do? The Master — he has withered like bones in a desert, there is no longer any life to him.”

Charles took in her concerned expression, the confused roil of her thoughts, of all their thoughts. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “The Master has been defeated. Your servitude is at an end.”

There was a collective intake of breath around him, and Storm gripped his hand; he felt the tell-tale crackle of electricity surround them both. “You mean you aren’t — you’re _not_ —”

He needed to shut this down quickly, so that he could get his bearings and take stock, could properly marshal his resources and figure out what more had to be done. He reached out with his power to calm her, reached out with his fingers to stroke the side of her face. “Child, the Master may be gone, but I'm here in his place.” 

When she frowned, a flash of defiance in her dark eyes, he drew her close and kissed her. Her lips were surprisingly soft. It was all the entry he needed; she went quiescent against him, drawing the dangerous nimbus of her power back into herself once more.

“I don’t understand. Are you the Master now?” Angel asked tentatively. In the aftermath of battle, he looked even younger than Storm, his thoughts cracked and fraying around the edges like the blades in his fissured wings. One of his eyes was mottled, and there were purpling bruises across his forehead. 

Charles ached for the boy, badly beaten from the battle and yet too afraid of En Sabah Nur’s wrath to let anyone tend to his wounds. He reached out and rested his free hand against Angel’s cheekbone, careful of the injuries. Angel closed his eyes and nestled his face against Charles’s palm.

“I am, and I’ll take care of you,” Charles found himself saying, and Angel’s thoughts relaxed in relief; in the same way, Angel relaxed into the curve of Charles’s arm, as trusting as a small animal, and as alluring. It was a small thing to ease the boy’s hurts, to caress his hair and the lean muscles and press kisses against the pliant skin. It was a small thing, but it brought Angel such pleasure, making him flush and murmur against Charles’s shoulder.

Psylocke said, briskly, “Do we care whether he’s the next incarnation of the Master, or if he’s still Xavier? As long as he’s the master of the world, as long as he fulfils his promise to make us gods. Isn’t that right?” 

_I want you, I want everything,_ her thoughts announced, as hot and insistent as day, and as she straddled him, parting his robe and sweeping hers to one side, Charles found that he had risen to meet her. Was this a residual echo of En Sabah Nur within him, making his flesh still so responsive? Unfamiliar sensations rippled across his skin and the muscles of his thighs and calves and the hard length of his cock as he thrust up into her.

 _Yes, like that, give it to me,_ she sent, sharp nails raking across his chest. He enveloped her with his mind, felt her clench wetly around him; heard her sharp little cries and tasted the thrilling white-out of her climax. It was breath-taking, and too good to resist.

As Psylocke withdrew, panting, her purple hair a tangle over her bare shoulders, Magneto approached the bed. He was the only Horseman still wearing his uniform, the battered helmet framing his conflicted face. 

“Charles? Is it really you?”

“Hello, old friend.” Charles gently released his hold on Storm and Angel, letting them fall to either side of him, and then he lifted his arms to Magneto.

Magneto slid onto the thin mattress alongside Charles. Through the armor, his skin felt as hot as Charles remembered. Very slowly, he lifted the helmet from his head, exposing the shock of greying hair, his haunted eyes.

Charles sat up, unhurriedly. He cupped his hands around Magneto’s face with infinite gentleness; he rested his forehead against his old enemy’s and old friend’s, and felt a deliberate crest of desire wash over them both.

As if from very far away, he heard Magneto’s thoughts rise indistinctly around them, almost too faint to be perceived, a ghost of an echo across the clamoring gulf of their need.

_This isn’t … no …_

Charles tried to pull away in shock, but his hands didn’t let go.

There was a blast of fire. It set Erik’s mind ablaze; it turned his conscious thoughts into an inferno. 

_All is revealed._

Charles stared into Magneto’s frantic, emptying eyes, saw the blue-skinned, bald-headed man smiling back. 

_You have seen it, haven’t you? The glory of what's to come?_

Here was the power that pulled the stars from their courses and consumed the sun in the sky and set the world on fire with its all-consuming hunger.

_No more stones. No more spears. No more slings. No more swords. No more weapons systems, no more super powers. Nothing that does not come from me._

Charles drew breath, but he couldn’t cry out; he found he couldn’t access his power, or lift a finger to put out the blaze, though his eyes leaked water and his lungs labored in his chest until they felt as if they would crack. 

Then he felt his lips stretch in a smile that was and was not his.

_You’re mine. We’re one, now and forever._

En Sabah Nur chose that moment to throw open Charles’s mind, which was now also his own. He saw the world that had been remade in fire, and created in his image, and saw that it was very good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Prinzenhasserin for the beta! Dialogue fragments from the climatic battle in X-Men Apocalypse (2016). Title from Frost's "Fire And Ice".


End file.
